Alignment
by oftheFORGOTTEN
Summary: The winter of 1776 changed him, that much was self-evident. But the hopeless outcome of the beginning of revolution was only a piece of the catalyst. RusAme, T for Language & Themes


Title: Alignment

Author: Tauros

Rating: T For Language

Characters: RussiaxAmerica

Warning: Contains Yaoi

Summary: The winter of 1776 changed him, that much was self-evident. But the hopeless outcome of the beginning of revolution was only a piece of the catalyst. RusAme, T for Language

Disclaimer: Ivan and Alfred belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, who conveniently let people like me borrow them for this.

* * *

"God_dammit_..."

He paced out of sight of his (his!) troops. At least... for _now_ the soldiers were calling themselves "Americans". It was only 5 months now where he could rightfully claim anything to be his and his alone, and unfortunately, with the way things were pointing, those 5 months would be all the time he'd ever have for such a thing. He didn't want to face it... He couldn't face it, for the sake of his (his!) men. He hated it... how much stronger England was, how ill-prepared he was for an all-out war with his "brother's" giant-ass military, how fucking _FREEZING_ it was...

And the fact that all of Europe just watched and waited for the young nation to fall. Sure, that creepy Prussia guy helped him a little bit, but he seriously _charged_ for the services, and switched sides on a seemingly daily basis. He tried looking for France to help out, since he and England were constantly at each others' throats, but _nooooo_, Francis didn't want to invest precious time into a "lost cause". Spain would just try to conquer him as well, going to him for help was definitely out, and god knows Portugal wouldn't betray a long-time military ally like England. So for nations that could help, that left Austria, who didn't give a shit, Denmark or Sweden, who also didn't give a shit, the Ottoman Empire, who honestly scared the crap out of him and likely lacked the ability to give _half_ a shit, and...

"...And what are you doing hiding out here, Amerika? Are you okay?"

...Russia...

Honestly, this guy wasn't too far off from suspicion either. His army was a bit unorganized; their major asset during wartime was dear old General Winter. But dammit, did Russia have to take it with him?

America was freezing his ass off, while England actually _had_ the supplies to keep thaw. Ivan seemed totally unaware of any temperature decreases caused by his setting foot on his (his!) side of the world.

"Err... Yeah, I'm fine..." America chattered, obviously not hiding anything. The icy December winds nipped his skin through the battle-torn clothing, originally designed for mid-fall as it was. The

Russian just kept smiling, the bastard...

"Do you think I am blind?" he innocently refuted.

"Well, based on the fact that I don't think I've seen your eyes open yet, yes."

"Oh?" On command, his eyelids gently opened revealing an icy violet that did nothing but chill the atmosphere even more. Another shiver shot through Alfred's spine, but he didn't know whether that was from that Commander Jack Frost guy or how artificially _pure_ the gaze was.

"...Do you believe me now, my little friend?"

"That proves nothing... and don't call me that..." America crossed his arms, glaring at a rock he assumed was buried right beside his foot, hoping that any daggers in his eyes would magically teleport from here to his so-called friend's mind. Ivan gave an amused, eerie chuckle. Damn mind daggers had no effect...

"I have a spare coat or two in my tent; it would pain me to watch you get frostbite during such a vital war."

America waited only a moment to think up some way to protest the statement, just to save face and have the final word, but he looked up to find Russia gone. No footprints indicating he had left marred the sickly snow white blanket of _evil_ on the earth at his feet (Alfred didn't get excited about the possession of his feet, feet were a god-given right, like free speech and hamburgers). Why the hell was this sketch bomb his ally? Alfred shook his head, admitting to himself, only mentally, that beggars couldn't be choosers. He was lucky that he found an ally at all.

Eyes darting around, the teen snuck back into the shanty excuse of a camp. He honestly hated the place, no offence to the innocent plot of land, it's just that it's the place where his (his!) soldiers froze alongside him. If only he could fight a war alone, spare these virtuous guys the hell battle turned out to be. But no, such wishes were things no amount of England's nonexistent magic could grant. If the older nation was so enchanted, he'd have done the smart thing and flapped his magic wand around to force Alfred to listen to him. Thank _god_ Arthur didn't have magic...

His feet led him to his "ally's" tent, hoping that no one could see that he was indeed relying on Russia for _warmth_ of all things. The teen mentally face palmed at the sheer irony of the situation. Nevertheless, this would keep him from catching hypothermia or frostbite, and not catching hypothermia or frostbite meant more strength to fight and more strength to fight meant steps closer to recognized freedom. Then he wouldn't be a "lost cause" or get ripped off for ample services. This was necessary... at least that's what he told himself as he found a coat in plain view, as if the guy was putting up a museum exhibit just for the thing. Great, that probably meant he was watching the place too, and what little pride Alfred had couldn't allow that. Despite all the warning alarms going off in his head, he reached to try on the oversized thing.

Okay, so it _was_ warm, he had to admit that to himself as he slipped his other arm in. The only problem is that it was even bigger than it looked; the nation could probably use this as a tent instead of the cloth over a stick that he called home during his camping by the battlefield. His hands struggled to reach the edge of the sleeves, securing the buckles which kept the giant thing from slipping off.

So _this_ is how he dealt with Siberia...

It wasn't as hot as a summer down in South Carolina, more like a sauna of some sort, comfortably hot to a point of near-scalding. General Winter couldn't dream of penetrating the thick sturdy fabric ensconcing his frame. Not to mention the light aroma of iron and copper, normal scents of death, instead serving as an anchor to earth as the warmth tugged him into a different planet of slumber. It was just...

Russian. There was Russian. The language was being shouted outside. Or was it merely spoken? Or whispered? He couldn't tell, everything sounded ten times louder with traces of adrenaline beginning to flow. Pride... dammit he couldn't be seen like this! The teen grabbed at the buckles, but the coat was some sort of specially-designed Russian trap to get the buckles stuck the second America needed to get out.

Shadows waved farewell to each other, _nowhere close..._

One was approaching the tent, _come on come __on__..._

A gloved hand slipped into the gap before him, _fuck... fuck..._

And Ivan was there. Silent. Staring. He saw. By god, he _saw_.

The man gazed at him in a seemingly-shocked, manufactured violet, eyeing him in a manner similar to when he demanded his independence from his older brother only 5 months earlier. But something was different in this stare, it wasn't infuriated, it was... something close to _wonder_ dare he say it. Alfred looked down at himself in a sad attempt to find out why. His hands, barely showing from underneath the huge, dense sleeves were fruitlessly fingering at the stupid buckle. His position, thankfully mostly concealed as well, seemed young and powerless. The feeling soon spread to his conscious mind as well, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment.

"...I-it's..." the teen tried coming up with an excuse for his weak appearance. Dammit, as creepy as Russia was, he couldn't afford to lose the only help he had.

He shot his glance back up, coming up with the perfect reasoning for his appearance, but he was there. And by there, he meant right effing there, inches away and closing in. America tried pulling away, but his back only met Ivan's strong arm, held perfectly still until his lips were pressed against his ally's. He was more frozen here, shielded from the snow and nestled in the warm and uncooperative coat, then he could ever imagine being outside with Russia's snowman-general guy holding him. Yet... this was not the same sort of freezing... There was a foreign comfort in this method of affection, a certain heat associating itself with the lukewarm skin working in it's mature, skilled movement. And so, without a second thought about his situation, he melted. He allowed Ivan to lead him deep into the emotion, whatever that emotion was.

A hand slipping to his waist, his own securing around his neck, the nibbling at his bottom lip which peeled his apart, the... What the hell was this...! Something moist had taken that moment of weakness to it's advantage, entering his mouth. What scared him is how little resistance he put up, how much he found that he _yearned_ it's presence. His own tongue followed it's lead, hoping his amateur predilection would be enough to urge it to stay. And for a few addictive, hallucinogenic moments, it did. Then... Nothing. He was disjointed from the other, left to fall forward without that support before him. Alfred pushed himself upright once more, gazing at the man who had retreated just as quickly as he advanced. There was something in that artificial violet... Shock? Sudden sobriety? _Regret_... Goddamnit, that was _regret_ in his eyes. It was a mistake. But... how? The holy words and morals he held to before had no say in the American's logic anymore. It felt right, addictive, warm in the dark December... He wanted it again, dare he admit it...

But that was regret in Russia's eyes, that was a mark of one thing on his side of the world that could never belong to him.

"...I have to go..." Ivan looked at his minor, his mistake, his ally... Crap... Was he an ally anymore? If he didn't want to look at his flaw anymore, all Alfred's help in the world would be gone.

"Wait, Ivan..."

For once the Russian wasn't quick enough to escape before America could say something. Yes, he got the man's attention, but now he actually had to say something important. The jumbled mess his mind was left in after that kiss wasn't helping, either.

"Y... You... Are you going to...?"

Shame. Regret turned to shame in his clear, artificial gaze. He was history.

"...Desert us...?"

"Us? I do not know if..." then something clicked. Forced warmth surfaced to the frosty nation's disposition.

"Nyet, Amerika. I will not withdraw military support."

A small sigh of relief escaped his lips as the Russian resumed his retreat from the tent. But still... Regret... Shame... Emotions in his eyes that reflected to the surface... Did America feel that too? He looked, he tried, but... it wasn't there. All there was to be found was a yearning for more.

-oOo-

200. The bicentennial. The big two-oh-oh. Yes, today was a _very _awesome day. Pfft, Vietnam'll be sorry she missed this.

The sun shone softly through the opaque curtains, only able to realize it's true brilliance once those shields were ripped open. No, Alfred wouldn't stand proud in front of the huge windows in his underwear, staring into the flawless American sky at this hour in the morning, at least not usually. Today was the exception, a /hero's/ birthday. 200 years ago today... damn, how time flew.

Such a clean-cut number called for an especially heroic entrance to his party which, naturally, the entire free world would attend. With that thought at the front of his mind, he turned towards his large closet, feeling the sun's rays intensify in an attempt to touch his gallant abs once more.

The closet door gave a pleased squeak as it woke to the nation's entry. Today had to be a birthday the world would remember for a long time, and people got their first impressions from clothing, right? Well, the thunderous fireworks display that evening would be what everyone remembered, but hey, he had to open this party with something awesome so the sheer win of the evening wouldn't stop the others' beating hearts on the spot. But what would do the trick?

The contents of the closet, instead of plainly hanging on the poles where most people would normally put them, Alfred's clothing lay unceremoniously on the floor. They always were, they were organized piles, he wouldn't be able to find anything if someone came in to organize, which Lithuania had tried once or twice.

Lithuania... How was he doing? How long had it been since the depression started and made him leave? Since the iron curtain was put into place?

No, nothing in this pile worth wearing today, and America moved onto the next. He just looked at it quickly and knew he didn't need to bother looking in it; the pile was all clothing from just a decade before. Man, the sixties were _craaaazy_...

Pile by pile, Alfred's memory was carried back decades. The thriving fifties, the Second World War, old pinstripe suits that people only dared to wear in the twenties marked a corner... His blue union uniform littered another, even older clothing (old enough to be called Halloween costumes instead) fell into line in his neat mess, until...

"Hey, my old Revolutionary War uniform!"

The brilliant blue had dimmed a bit in the past 200 years, but it still bore the same pride and strength as it had the day he declared his freedom. This was it, what he was looking for subconsciously the entire time. It would piss Arthur off to an extreme extent, but that just added to the appeal. Now to find the rest of the pieces, the pants, boots, the...

Sturdy, heated fabric met his fingertips. This was... How was it...

He didn't know it was... still there...

Fuck

America threw the old coat to the other side of the closet, where it contaminated another pile with that memory. No, he needed to dispose of it, hide it in the depths of Fort Knox where he would never have to remember it again so long as his nation stood firm and free. That fucking coat... That fucking winter... It had an effect on him, no doubt, but the cause was better off as a piece of lost history. It was established fact for a long time. As soon as that war was over, Alfred tried hiding and denying the sinful urges that threatened to ensconce his mind at any minute. It took a long while, but those urges eventually won, proof evident from the string of lovers and ex-lovers he's acquired over decades upon decades. Vietnam was only the latest fling; one he knew would end terribly as soon as it began. He honestly felt nothing for her, and was remorseless in their explosive yet mutual break-up. He couldn't love a red commie bitch after all.

An unpatriotic, pain-in-the-ass voice in the back of his head chortled with that thought, Alfred's sane mind stomping on it with all the strength he could muster. What could have been even the slightest bit funny about his thoughts about Vietnam? Rewind, he searched back through the thoughts like pages in a textbook. Always knew their relationship would end terribly... Violent, mutual breakup... Red commie b-

The fucking voice laughed again. This time, the source was painfully clear.

America snatched the satanic coat up from the 60's pile where it was deposited. Russia? There was no way in hell that commie bastard was thought of in any slightly positive way, let alone... that! The voice grew louder, laughter piercing at his sanity. This officially was going to get _burned_. Today, before the rest of the world could catch a glimpse of his weakness.

But by the time he made it outside to perform the execution of the thick textile, his resolve weakened...

He couldn't do it.

* * *

Yes folks, this is what I was writing instead of chapter 3 of my Sealand fic. My inner fangirl is satisfied now.

Alright! Finally, finished this challenge. I was supposed to do something with Uke!America in a giant coat, and I somehow tied it into the Revolutionary War. This is slightly historically accurate, since Russia did send a little bit of help during the Revolutionary War, even in the beginning...

But yeah, a couple friends begged me to make a second RusAme confrontation in the 1976 portion, so I might make a small epilogue chapter of that later. But before that I have to go back and work on Roughs before my plot bunnies run away.

Just a reminder, I'm doing free commissions, pretty much any pairing for almost any series I know. Hell, I may even get into the lemon area if I'm bored enough. just message me and we can see if something can work out ^^ And why? I'm bored, that's why, no other reason needed.

One last note, I love rviews! So I will send some virtual cupcakes to those who are kind enough to give feedback! Hey, maybe I'll review in return =3


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